


Pineapples Don't Grow On Abydos

by shinealightonme



Category: Psych, Stargate: SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Gen, Humor, Military, Science Fiction, cliches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-24
Updated: 2009-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinealightonme/pseuds/shinealightonme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just another day at Stargate Command for Shawn Spencer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pineapples Don't Grow On Abydos

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fusion fic; knowledge of Stargate: SG-1 is not strictly required but probably helps. Originally posted [on LJ](http://shinealightonme.livejournal.com/51954.html).

"Come on, Gus, you get to do all the fun things," Shawn whined. "Why can't I join in just once? Don't I deserve a chance to travel to the stars?"

"Look, Shawn, I don't know where you get these ideas, but space travel isn't like going to Disneyland," Gus said sternly. "It's hard work. We get shot at. By aliens. It's not 'fun'."

"But I'll bet it's fun when the hot alien women put the moves on you." Shawn waggled his eyebrows in a manner so suggestive that Gus was fairly certain it broke some sort of Air Force regulation.

"That does not happen nearly as often as you think it does," he snapped. "And usually when they do, they're evil and trying to trap us and take us to the Goa'uld."

"Or steal all your stuff."

"Or age us prematurely."

"You know, I thought Lassie really pulled that off. He looked quite distinguished for someone who was about hundred years old."

"Shawn, you can't call the Colonel that," Gus hissed, looking around suspiciously.

"Call him what?" Shawn played dumb. "Distinguished? Because I gotta say, I don't think I'm the only one who's noticed. In fact – "

"No, I mean, you can't call him _Lassie_. He's your superior officer! There are repercussions for that sort of thing. It's insubordination!"

"So? What are they going to do?" Shawn demanded. "Ground me? I've got like the single most boring job around here, Gus. It doesn't get a lot worse."

"It can get _much_ worse," Gus assured him fervently. "You have no idea how much worse."

"I don't have any idea because they won't let me off-world! That's why you gotta help me sneak off. One mission, that's all I'm asking."

"It's out of the question."

"Maybe, but is it also out of the statement? The exclamation? The declaration? The – "

"That joke wasn't funny the first time, Shawn, let it go."

"I can keep 'em coming, Gus, I've seen a thesaurus or two in my time. And man am I reaching new levels of low if I really just tried to make that sound cool and dangerous," Shawn added, mostly to himself.

"Going off-world is a job. One that I do not because it's _fun_ but because it is _necessary_, and you know, if you'd just applied yourself a little more in school – "

"Oh, here it comes, Mama Guster and the high school regret lecture."

" – you could be doing this too."

"Going out there and bringing back hordes of alien treasure?"

"Which try to kill you."

"Making contact with strange new people?"

"Who try to kill you."

"Eating wonderful alien delicacies..."

"Which nearly kill you."

"Stop harping on about death all the time, Emily Dickinson, you're such a pessimist."

"I'm a realist, Shawn. Death is a part of the job and we all have to learn to deal with it."

"Yeah, especially since death keeps happening to the same people over and over again. Most of us only get to punch our time card once, you know. Did they give you a 'ten resurrections and your eleventh is free' card or something?"

"Just forget it," Gus glared. "You're not going off world where you could get – "

"Sprayed with alien pollen that makes you, shall we say, happy?"

"That never happened, Shawn, that was an episode of Star Trek."

"But it _could happen_."

"This conversation is over."

"Some friend you are!" Shawn called out as he retreated. "Won't even _try_ to sneak me through the Stargate..."

-

"Sorry I'm late," Gus apologized, rushing into the briefing room.

"Take your time," Lassiter replied acidly. "It isn't as though you're delaying a mission of vital importance to the continued existence of _humanity_."

"I thought it was just a recon mission to check out naquadah mines on a deserted planet," M'c'nab tilted his head in confusion.

Lassiter opened his mouth to say something, but Juliet spoke first. "It is," she assured the Jaffa. "The colonel is just grumpy with Dr. Guster."

"But if he hadn't been late, we wouldn't have had time to swing by the mess hall for jello," M'c'nab pointed out. It didn't cheer Lassiter up much.

"Gentlemen, Major, if we may now precede?" Vick asked, only gritting her teeth slightly. "This is a routine recon mission and should not take too much time to go over but it will take significantly longer if you all insist on bickering."

"Sorry, general," Lassiter snapped to attention, or as close as he could get sitting down. "Major, the UAV readings."

"Yessir," O'Hara said, pulling up the presentation of what intel they'd managed to gather from the sweep of the planet. It was enough to confirm the planet was uninhabited, and that there were abandoned naquadah mines. If the readings were correct, the mines still had sizable deposits. This set O'Hara off into an enthusiastic lecture on how much their program could benefit from an increased supply, before she noticed Vick's pencil tapping, M'c'nab's slightly glazed eyes, and the angry set on Lassiter's face. Gus, at least, looked sympathetic; he'd been in exactly her place before, having gotten so caught up explaining some aspect of mythology that he'd failed to realize he'd lost his audience.

"Major," Lassiter barked, "If there are really such sizable deposits, why is the planet deserted? It's not Goa'uld procedure to leave something like that behind."

"Maybe they had to leave," M'c'nab offered. "Got chased off by something."

"What kind of something?" Gus gulped, nervously.

"Don't know," M'c'nab replied cheerfully, unaware of Gus' worry. "Doesn't look like there are humans, but maybe some kind of large predator. Oh! Like the zanglash on Ryvan. You should see them sometime, Dr. Guster, they're taller than I am when they rear up on their hind feet, and they have three rows of teeth _this_ long – "

"And unless these _fascinating_ beasts have somehow managed to master Gate travel – something that's completely escaped the grasp of most of the _sentient humans_ in this galaxy – I doubt we'll be running into any of them," Lassiter rolled his eyes. "Though M'c'nab has a point." M'c'nab brightened up considerably at this. "It could be dangerous out there. I want everyone on their toes, pay full attention to the surroundings – no getting caught off guard doing something stupid, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," M'c'nab and Juliet replied; Gus simply nodded.

"If that's everything, Major?" the general asked, and assured that that was all, ordered them to gear up and report to the Gateroom.

They trooped into the room a few minutes later, and Lassiter had a moment to enjoy the anticipation of setting out on a mission before he glanced at the control room. "Oh, sweet justice, the monkey's on shift," he groaned. "Why is that clown always the one at the wheel when we're heading off world?"

"Hey, M'c'nab, my man," Shawn announced via microphone, waving from his position in front of the dialing computer. "How's my favorite alien doing today? Your little buddy keeping you in one piece?"

M'c'nab flashed the thumbs up, just as Shawn had taught him, before also raising his staff weapon in salute.

"Major O'Hara, looking competent and deadly as ever," Shawn grinned, hoping as always to make her blush and – as usual – disappointed. "And I sense that you're using a new shampoo – it's doing wonders for your hair, really. Adds a lot of body, very nice."

"And you can tell this how, exactly, when my hair is pulled back?" she challenged.

He didn't answer, moving instead to his next subject. "And Colonel Lassiter, always an honor to see you in the Gateroom – tell me, what stunning acts of interstellar courage and heroism will you so intrepidly mess up today?"

"Sergeant, you are not here to grace us with your weak attempts at humorous commentary, you are here to dial the gate. If you would kindly do so, I would like to put several million light years between me and yourself as soon as possible."

"Ask and ye shall receive," Shawn drawled, "Just as I shall _ask_ Gus for a certain favor, and I know that I shall _receive_."

"Dream on, Shawn," Gus snorted, "and get with the chevrons already."

"Will you at least bring me back a souvenir?"

"Sergeant, sometime today, if that's all right with you?" Vick commented, ominously cheerful.

"Chevron 1 is engaged, but I would like to point out that you are all seriously wet blankets. Except you, M'c'nab, you're cool. We still on for pool tomorrow?"

M'c'nab grinned. "Sure thing, Spencer."

"Awesome, and chevron 2 is engaged..." The sequence continued, under Vick's attentive gaze, _mostly_ uninterrupted. The general was glad that Shawn only acted this out of line with this team; otherwise, the Gateroom would never have anything approaching a normal routine.

Not that there was much that was normal around here, anyway.

"Spencer," Vick said, reproachfully, after team had left. "You keep up like this and I'm going to have to report you."

"Go ahead, general," Shawn winked. "I understand it's just your job, and I know how you really feel." He placed his hand over his heart. "Do what you must, but our love will never die."

Vick crossed her arms. "I might also need to have another talk with General Spencer."

"Oh would you look at that, I need to recalibrate the gate's primary warp nacelles," Shawn dashed out.

Vick wasn't going to smile. Really, she wasn't.

Shawn ducked his head back into the room. "General, can I go off-world on the next mission?"

"No."

"Sorry, let me rephrase that. General, _requesting permission_ to go off-world on the next mission."

"Request denied, Sergeant."

"But general! I've been practicing with a zat gun. I'm getting rather deadly."

"Yes, so Dr. Lytar tells me; apparently you've been sent to the infirmary three times in the last week?"

"What can I say, general, they have the best service in town. Really, I highly recommend it. If you're only going to be hospitalized for embarrassing, awkward injuries in one hospital, it should be this one."

"Don't you have some 'warp nacelles' to be taking care of, Sergeant?" She drew out every word.

"I'm getting a vibe here that you would like me to depart. And I shall, because I am helpful, and respectful of the chain of command, and totally the kind of person who can be trusted – nay, absolutely _should_ be trusted – with off-world missions."

"Out," she ordered.

Shawn saluted extravagantly before leaving again, with the promise, "I will get off-world someday, general!"

She had no doubt he'd try, at least. "Sergeant," she called out to the remaining technician in the room. "Remind me to send out a memo to security personnel about maintaining vigilance regarding outbound gate travelers."


End file.
